You were supposed to picture (for this “biography”), you’d become whatever it was people who knew what they were going to major in in college knew they’d be doing for the rest of their lives. Jeremiah didn’t have any college degree, too bad…and Kate had told Savannah she’d have to go to a state school, unless she wanted to take the SAT again. Never in life.

Savannah felt bad for Valentine Yoharie. He’d just moved in with his dad…that was sweet, wasn’t it?…poor Mr. Yoharie, his kids coming to stay. Snooty Giarma.

I wish I had all her stuff.

He’d got to drop out of school, Valentine, which was most decidedly awesome. All of a sudden—for her sake (though perhaps unbeknown)—he had to be an example of what that kid down the street was going to turn into, according to her parents.

Perhaps unbeknown…

She subscribed to Trevor’s blogs because her father hated him.

She used Totem-speech.

I would not have asked to be born

A freaking Hibbler.

At Roberta Witticombe’s blog, she looked with envy. If you were friends with the professor down the street, maybe you’d get in on a recommendation. She just liked this thought of Kate, her stingy pride, confounded.

Someone, posting on Roberta’s blog, put up a link, and a picture—a plate of mini bunt cakes. Each had drip icing, white, dusted in purple sugar, and a flower, real.

Candied violets, it said.

Seriously? (someone wrote) Just like the ones in the yard?

Go grab you some. Check out the link! Easy-peasy.

Yeah…but it’s the peasy that gets you.

Savannah had a vision. That you could make something…and it would work out, and people would say, “Oh! That’s so great! Could you make one for me?”

It would be a whole thing to do for a living. And she could leave right away.